


This Is New

by loveanddeathandartandtaxes



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: First Time, Inexperienced Sherlock, M/M, Past Abuse, Sherlock is Not a Virgin
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-14
Updated: 2013-12-14
Packaged: 2018-01-04 14:56:43
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,009
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1082358
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/loveanddeathandartandtaxes/pseuds/loveanddeathandartandtaxes
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"I want you to touch me," he says hesitantly. "I want to touch you all over. I want you to come. I - I want to come?" That is not supposed to be a question. No matter. John shudders against him.</p><p>"Yes. Christ yes. But I have a request."</p>
            </blockquote>





	This Is New

**Author's Note:**

  * For [tenderly_wicked](https://archiveofourown.org/users/tenderly_wicked/gifts), [AggressiveWhenStartled](https://archiveofourown.org/users/AggressiveWhenStartled/gifts).
  * Inspired by [It Comes with Experience](https://archiveofourown.org/works/1036368) by [tenderly_wicked](https://archiveofourown.org/users/tenderly_wicked/pseuds/tenderly_wicked). 



> I attempted to write a sequel for tenderly_wicked's "It Comes With Experience". 
> 
> I'm sure this could be worlds better, but I said I would do it, so here it is.
> 
> Update: I just re-read AggressiveWhenStartled's "Loosed Reins" and discovered I was more inspired by that than I had realised.

He is sick of waiting. John has promised sex, but has not done anything in the nineteen days since the unfortunate incident with the prostitute to initiate it. For sixteen days, though, they have been trading kisses, quick pecks to say good morning, lazy drags of lips on their way to bed, heated snogging whenever they wished throughout the day.

"John," he rasps as his flatmate (friend? Partner? Lover? Better half? Heart?) pulls away to go upstairs to sleep.

"Hmm?"

"Have you... Did you change your mind?"

John's hand is tight around his wrist, his mouth firm against his jaw. 

"Mm. _No._ "

"It's been eons. I thought you didn't want to fuck me anymore."

"I don't want to fuck you."

Sherlock froze.

"But,"

"I very much want to have sex _with_ you, Sherlock. I definitely want to be inside you one day. But I don't want to fuck you."

John settles back onto his knees over Sherlock's lap, a light touch encouraging him to bare his neck to tender ministrations.

"I want to make love to you," he breathes into Sherlock's skin.

"Oh God," he mumbles. He has not really considered the difference, beyond one phrase being coy and the other crass, which begins to seem a massive oversight.

"But I need to know you want it, want this," John continues.

"I want you, John. Now, please, I want you."

"What do you want?"

Sherlock opens his mouth, closes it again. He cannot think for a moment.

"I want you to touch me," he says hesitantly. "I want to touch you all over. I want you to come. I - I want to come?" That is not supposed to be a question. No matter. John shudders against him.

"Yes. Christ yes. But I have a request."

"Anything, John."

"You need to tell me the second there's anything that's uncomfortable, anything you don't like, _and_ ," he adds. anticipating Sherlock's response, "I need you to trust that we will change or stop what we're doing right away, and that I'll be okay with that."

"I'm not a child; I don't need coddling."

"This isn't coddling. This is... fuck, I dunno, a healthy discussion to have the first time you have sex with someone."

Sherlock levels a glare at John.

"I've had sex before, John. I know what to do."

John looks up from where he has begun unbuttoning Sherlock's shirt, unfazed.

"Not with me, you haven't. This is new for _us_. Please, promise me you'll tell me."

"Yes, John."

John kisses him and smooths hands out along his clavicles.

"You're so lovely," he murmurs absently, ducking his head to suck a mark onto the skin. Sherlock plans to make a snide comment on the immaturity of lovebites, but all that passes his lips is a breathy moan. His hands are more obedient, and grip John at the hips, pulling him closer.

"Yeah?" Asks John.

" _Yes,_ " he manages. Amiably John shifts so he can roll his hips against Sherlock's, a motion he repeats several times. Sherlock's growing erection stiffens further and he bucks up without conscious thought. 

"This is - while this is marvellous, John, don't you want to have sex with me now?"

"'S what I'm doing."

Sherlock pauses for a moment.

"No, but-"

"Love, sex doesn't have to be cock-in-arse. Do you like this?" He demonstrates what 'this' he means with another grinding roll of his erection against Sherlock's. "Because _I_ like this. If this is good..."

"Yes,"

"Then we can do this, now. We can do something else next time, perhaps."

Sherlock can not think of a response; could not vocalise it if he could. He is kissing John, and it is heady and perfect but for John's shirt denying him access to his body. 

"Off. Off," he manages.

"Yeah. You too, okay?" John shifts back just far enough that they can remove their own shirts without elbows meeting faces. The instant fabric hits floor, Sherlock is pulling John against him once more, mapping his torso with his fingertips and then his tongue.  
John squirms when Sherlock seals his lips over the scar on his shoulder and sucks lightly, and in an instant he finds himself apologising, begging forgiveness and permission to continue.

"Sherlock, it's all fine. It's just a bit prickly." 

Their lips find each other again and in a matter of seconds John is grinding against Sherlock once more.

"Can I touch you, Sherlock?"

"O-obviously."

John huffs a breathy laugh and trails his fingers down over Sherlock's stomach before carefully undoing the button and zip of his trousers.

"You don't know how much I've wanted to do this," he murmurs. 

"You could have. I've been right here."

"If I had asked you, twelve days ago, if we could have sex, what would you have said?"

"Yes."

"Why?"

"Because you want to."

"Love, that is exactly why I waited for you to ask me."

John is possibly the greatest man in a century. John is brushing the knuckles of one hand against Sherlock's silk-covered cock.

"I'm going to do everything with you, Sherlock, but right now..."

"Please, John."

He eases Sherlock's cock, stiff and sensitive, out from its confines and pets it gently. A drawn-out whine escapes his throat. This is what he has always liked about sex - the caresses and stroking. If John continues doing this, makes a habit of this, Sherlock will happily agree to sex any way - anywhere, any time, that John wishes. And John will make it good for him. 

John pulls away enough to shimmy his own pants down. Greedily Sherlock inspects him, noting his length and girth, colour and weight and texture.

"You're memorising every sodding detail, aren't you," John says fondly. "You mad berk."

"Mm."

When their flesh comes together, pressing and rubbing and slipping against each other, Sherlock grips tight onto John's shoulder blades and buries his face against the unmarred skin of his right shoulder.

Chuckling, John threads one hand through Sherlock's dark curls and slides the other to grip their erections together loosely. His fingers do not tighten in Sherlock's hair, meaning he is free to turn his head and nuzzle into John's throat.

"Pretty sure you said something about touching me all over that you haven't made good on yet," John remarks calmly, although a hint of breathlessness is beginning to chase his words.

"Sorry," he says, rubbing his hands up to shoulder and down to coccyx.

"No, I just... Mm."

"John, you - is this really sufficient? I wouldn't mind if you wanted my mouth or my arse - I would like it, John. I just want you to enjoy this enough to..." He trails off.

"Yes this is 'sufficient', and for the love of god you had better finish that sentence."

"Enough to do this - sex with me - again."

"Dunno whether to try and convince you with words or just by coming all over you."

" _John,_ there's no need to be crude."

"Not. 'T's a pressing concern. I could prob'ly come just from you telling me to, at this point."

Sherlock tells John to do many things, but he complains regularly about much of it. Sherlock wonders if John does not realise he holds the power in this situation.

"Tell me, tell me," John insists, as his hand speeds up on their cocks. When his thumb swipes over the tips and they shudder simultaneously, Sherlock obediently rasps out "John, come; come on me now," and John _does_. His hand shakes, slows, and stops. Sherlock holds him close, ejaculate smearing between them. They bask for a while, and then John shifts to stand up from where he had rested on Sherlock, but only long enough to kneel between long legs.

"John, what-" and then John kisses the very tip of him, and again, then gives a tiny lick over the slit, and slides the head past his lips. He is only vaguely aware of what he is saying as John continues.

"I don't understand. Why are - John. It doesn't make sense. I was going to do this for you, I - John, stop."

He is released immediately, and John sits back on his haunches.

"You okay?"

"You... You don't want me to come in your mouth," Sherlock explains. "I was about to."

"It - well, I mean, it is kind of weird if you think about it too hard, but actually I wouldn't have minded at all. Do you not want to come in my mouth?"

"That's hardly a fair question."

John looks hard at him.

"All... right. Well. How about this. You said 'stop', earlier. Did you mean 'pause' or 'quit'? I need you to tell me the truth."

"Pause."

"Okay. Yeah. I'd like to continue, if you want. I would like it if you wanted to come in my mouth."

"This isn't at all like I expected," he admits. "People _like_ you; you could have good sex with practically any of them. I know I'm not very good at this, yet you seem to derive pleasure from... Even this. Don't you feel, um, degraded, submissive, patronised?"

"Fuck no," John says easily, as his fingertips graze Sherlock's inner thighs. His eyes are sparkling. "If I was coerced here, maybe. But you're right. I do gain pleasure from pleasing you. God, the way you looked - the things your voice did - and knowing I was doing it to you... I feel powerful here."

Sherlock has never felt powerful performing oral sex. He thinks on this as John asks silently with gestures to continue and he nods. If he were to proposition John, perhaps as he lay blearily half-awake and optimally compliant in his bed, he could begin to understand what John has said. He could kiss his way from mouth to groin, and perhaps nuzzle and lick everywhere but John's penis for a while. John would buck and writhe and try not to do so. Perhaps he would try to speak, but if Sherlock were doing well, would be unable to articulate anything. Sherlock could control John's body. John would trust him; let him. God.

John is wringing all sorts of motion and sound from Sherlock. He _is_ powerful, like this, but Sherlock does not feel overpowered. He feels safe.

"You seem a bit lost in your head, there, love," John says. "Alright?"

"Love," he parrots. "You love me, John. This is a physical expression of it."

John leans back a little, looking nervous. 

"Yeah," he breathes. "That's about the shape of it. Is that... not good? Too much?"

"It's perfect. It rather simplifies things, to know we feel the same way about each other." He should probably say the words. One day, he will.

"I really need to kiss you some more, right now," John says firmly. Rather than drag him back onto the chair, Sherlock joins him on the floor, feverishly peppering his face with kisses. 

"Your hand, John, please," he manages to get out. Fingers wrap around him, a tugging slide, and he suspects it is less than a minute before his orgasm knocks into him. John holds him steady at shoulder and hip, smiling softly.

"Brilliant," John breathes, like Sherlock has done something considerably more intelligent than getting semen on the carpet.

"I'll be better next time, John," he promises. "If you want a next time. I can make myself come when you're inside me. You'll like that."

"Christ, Sherlock, the things you say. I don't know whether to find somebody to shoot or focus on getting hard again. I'm too old to be doing either, really."

Sherlock nuzzles into John’s throat.

“Getting hard, definitely. I want to make you climax again. I want to bring you to orgasm every way possible. I want to use only my mouth, and then I want to see if i can make you come without touching your penis. I want to feel it inside me. I want-”

“Yes, okay, understood.”

“Not good?”

“Perfect.” John leads Sherlock to the bathroom to be wiped clean, and Sherlock pulls John into his bedroom. He hopes John will be amenable to sleeping wrapped around each other.


End file.
